


teeth and lungs

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Character Study, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Deputy Steve Harrington, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Grocery Clerk Billy Hargrove, Hair Pulling, HarringrovePornathon, HarringrovePornathon 2019, HarringrovePornathon Day 6, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Season/Series 02, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sort of Also HarringrovePornathon Day 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 11:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19440412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: So they keep fooling around, and Steve takes his newly-minted high school diploma to Hop and starts training as a deputy the very next day, and his summer doesn't turn into something terrible and awful, even though Billy Hargrove is both those things and more.(Written for HarringrovePornathon Day 6, only kind of two days late.)





	teeth and lungs

**Author's Note:**

> This is two days late and longer than I had ever anticipated. Mostly, I got distracted by trying to (barely successfully) write Cobra Kai fic.
> 
> Title from "Sedated" by Hozier.

Long summer days in Hawkins are treacherous things. The nights are short enough now it's easy to forget how dark it can truly get.

Hiding comes easy, and Steve has grown to treasure shadows and empty rooms and the places between buildings. The only darkness which follows him around now has a name, and his name is Billy Hargrove.

Hargrove makes him want to screw his eyes tightly shut and never open them again lest he see that mocking snarl and his bared teeth and the look in his eyes which means nothing but trouble.

The first time they mess around is in the back of Melvald's General Store during the newly-instated night shift meant to lift up Old Melvald's business after the hit it took with the mall's opening. It's also where they mess around the second and third times, and all the times after when they're not at Steve's with his parents gone or in the backseat of the Camaro parked behind the "Welcome to Hawkins" sign, but it's only the first time which leaves Steve both a little empty inside and seemingly too full of everything he can't quite name.

It doesn't occur to him until much later, when he's already lost count of which time it is anyway, that he has no idea why Billy took the admittedly low-pressure job of manning a dying small town store during its worst working hours, or why he repeatedly chooses not to call Steve out on his excuses about late-night shopping emergencies and thus run the risk of getting fired from the only job in Hawkins that involves legitimately escaping Neil Hargrove's house at night just to around with a boy in the back of said store.

Lifeguard. Usher. Camp Counselor. Fucking babysitter. Hargrove takes stocking shelves after midnight over all else, as if it's not the last summer before senior year. As if any other job wouldn't pay just as well and get him out of that house. As if he's doing it on purpose to be a contrary little shit like he usually does.

Or maybe something's up. And once that's in Steve's head, it's nearly impossible for him to put it out of his mind for very long. Which is fucking stupid because it's none of Steve's business.

So they keep fooling around, and Steve takes his newly-minted high school diploma to Hop and starts training as a deputy the very next day, and his summer doesn't turn into something terrible and awful, even though Billy Hargrove is both those things and more.

And although he definitely does not mention anything to Hargrove about all the thoughts floating around in his head, doesn't initiate anything other than a hearty grope, Hargrove springs random shit on him anyway. As in, he pushes Steve off his dick while Steve's on his knees in the back of Melvald's with Hargrove hovering above him, all on a boring Wednesday night in mid-August, to state, "I hate this shitty town."

Which, as far as Steve's concerned, isn't a good enough reason to stop a perfectly nice blowjob and leave him staring with a drooling mouth at Hargrove's angry-looking cock. Its berry-red colour is especially appealing from up close, and Steve would like nothing more than to put his mouth and tongue and the back of his throat right back on it. But Hargrove seems to have more to say on the subject, so Steve not-so-patiently waits him out.

Only nothing else comes, and Hargrove's staring into Steve's eyes expectantly while his dick's still out and wet with Steve's saliva is kind of starting to become a little off-putting, not to mention killing Steve's hard-on. More out of the intense desire to get back to business than any real feelings on the matter, Steve finds himself saying, "Yeah, me, too."

Only.

He does have feelings on the matter.

Too bad he's not about to talk to Billy Hargrove about _demo-any-fucking-thing_ , thank you very much.

Hargrove squints for a moment before his face evens out into a thoughtful expression Steve has not yet had the occasion to have directed at him. He cocks his head and stares for a few moments, then says, "Then why are you still here?" Maybe not exactly unkindly and only just sort of curious.

Steve's not sure if it's meant to be a verbal slap anyway, or an actual question, or both, but it feels like the worst moment to continue what used to be a perfectly nice blowjob.

He's about to get to his feet and, like, storm out or something equally dramatic, and maybe Hargrove sees that in his eyes or whatever, because he quickly follows that up with, "You could do so much better, pretty boy."

Which is a blatant lie.

Steve can't do better than this.

He doesn't say so, because that would be the most pathetic thing that's ever been spoken out loud, and he's not about to willingly humiliate himself in front of Billy Hargrove while on this knees in front of him. He goes with, " Why are you still talking? You could be doing _me_ ," instead. Not his best, but better than the alternative in his book.

It's unclear what Hargrove's face does then, but the moment's gone quickly enough Steve's fearing whiplash.

It's easier after that. Hargrove wraps his fingers around Steve's hair and pulls just hard enough to make it count, and Steve wraps his fist around Hargrove's cock, and then he gets his mouth back on him. And it's sloppy like the both of them like it, with Hargrove's salty precome on his tongue and smeared around the edges of his lips while he slides his dick deeper into his mouth to flirt with the back of his throat in a way that's guaranteed to have him feeling sore and used until the next time.

Hargrove's grip in his hair gets tighter, but the sting makes it better, has Steve chubbing back up in his jeans. He's almost all the way hard again when Hargrove stops just as abruptly as last time.

He pulls out on a filthy drag, which has Steve's hackles raised and his dick perversely twitching in self-defence. He's not above bitching Hargrove out for being, like, a tease or an indecisive motherfucker or whatever, only Hargrove beats him to it, in that he's not only letting go of Steve's head but also sort of moving away from him and reaching for the button on his jeans. Making the first move, only in reverse.

"What?" Steve says nonsensically. It's barely a question, But, seriously, _what_?

It's been mostly Hargrove dragging him in the back for some "quality time", but Steve's been more than willing to get dragged. He's not sure if this is the time when Hargrove realises they're on different pages, probably different books, and they finally _stop_. Because messing around is all fine and dandy, but Hargrove is and will always be fucking trouble.

After a long moment which seems to drag out irrationally longer than it should, Hargrove huffs in barely-hidden annoyance. Without quite making eye contact, he says, "You should get out."

Steve's gut drops. Hargrove doesn't push it. Instead, he seems to deflate. Goes from stiff and wrong-footed to resigned and sort of tired-looking.

For lack of anything coherent to say or do, Steve stares at the floor between his knees.  
It's the cleanest floor Steve's ever been fucked on. Hargrove's a model employee.

This probably wouldn't be fucking happening in the back of the Camaro on a dirt road outside of Hawkins.

"Wait. Are you kicking me out?" He has to ask. He _has to_.

"What? No. What?"

"Two very good questions. That I asked first." Hargrove's looking pissed, to which Steve can completely relate, only he's the one with bruised knees and a hell of a lot of confusion on his plate. So Hargrove can fuck right off with that shit.

Pissed turns into wildly confused, which is kind of odd for Hargrove to so blatantly show. "I'm not— What? I'm not kicking you out, Jesus. What is wrong with you, Harrington?" Distinctly odd.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you! You _just_ said—"

"That was me telling you to leave this shitty town. I'm not kicking you out at one in the morning, Jesus Christ!"

Now it's Steve's turn to deflate. "You're not?" He tries not to sound hopeful, but clearly miserably fails.

Hargrove cocks his head pointedly and looks at him as if he's the biggest idiot he's ever stumbled upon. Which is totally unfair, because what's Steve even supposed to believe here.

"Yeah, _no_ ," he says all bitchy, but it sounds final. Hargrove sighs. Steve's more confused than ever.

They're at a strange stalemate for a few moments. But then Hargrove's getting back into Steve's space, who has yet to get to his feet. He reaches for Steve's hair once more. First one hand, then both, and it's the most tentative yet by far. His left thumb is making slow-moving circles around the top of Steve's head and down until he reaches the thin skin behind his ear. Then his other hand cups Steve's cheek and holds his face up as if he's examining his face for some unnamed thing.

It is weird. Steve knows it's weird. But he can't help swallowing heavily at the touch. His breath catches when Hargrove's knees hit the floor next to his.

"Finally ready to get your hands dirty?" It's only half-cocky. It's expected. Like hell will Steve not bitch out Hargrove whenever he can.

Hargrove blinks, and the start of a smile hovers around his lips. Steve can't stop staring.

"Do you ever shut up, Harrington?"

"You're one to talk," he huffs.

Hargrove then smiles fully like Steve told a great joke, but he also dives in for a kiss, the first since he pushed Steve into the back and locked the door behind them, and a grope to Steve's chest over his shirt before both hands are back in his hair.

Yeah, Billy Hargrove is fucking trouble.

He's the worst. He's awful. Awful and terrible. He mouths at Steve's lips for only a moment before prodding his mouth open to fuck in with his tongue, all sloppy and wet, his grip in Steve's hair once more hard and tight enough to move his head how he wants it in order to lick into Steve's mouth and then suck on his tongue. Steve's hands move reflexively to grip up his arms and claw at his shoulders, closing the space between them. Knees bumping on the floor and shallow pants, and the taste of his own mouth on Hargrove's tongue, must be what Hell feels like.

They move away from each other just enough to take panting breaths. They're basically breathing each other's recycled air. Which must be why Steve's lightheaded. That's it. His knees wobble and he has to sit back, ass almost on the floor.

Before he can move back in, his legs get shoved far apart by Hargrove's palms on the insides of his thighs in the time it takes him to blink dumbly, then he's getting carefully pushed backwards, his arms and then his elbows collapsing beneath him and his shoulder blades hitting the floor quickly followed by the rest of him. It's not a shove as much as it is inertia whenever Hargrove's touching him.

But Hargrove only hovers, too close over the length of him and not close enough. Snuggles closer to press himself all the way to Steve's front in the next instant, though. Steve's entire body stutters at the sudden heat of him. Hargrove's arms cage him in, and then his sharp teeth nip at Steve upper lip before sucking the lower one enough to draw the blood to the surface. Has it aching and bound to bruise.

"Fuck, Hargrove," he all but moans, not fast enough to bite his lip on the words. It turns into a heavy sigh on the first thrust of Hargrove's hips to his.

It doesn't last long, though, before Hargrove pulls back to hover over him, watching Steve's face.

"What?" He's only a little distracted by the closeness of Hargrove's dick to his own through two pairs of jeans and underwear.

"You trust me?"

"What?" Steve asks stupidly.

"Just trust me, OK?"

Steve is truly fucking stupid. Like, who else would trust Billy Hargrove. Next thing he knows, he lets himself be prodded into turning on his front, and doesn't let himself think too much on what this means. Hargrove moves out of the way surprisingly quickly to arrange Steve's body the way he wants it.

The floor is carpeted and finely vacuumed. It's a weird thing to notice, but it's something to focus on as Steve feels Hargrove reaching around him to unbutton and unzip his pants and drag them down his hips and over his ass alongside his underwear. Before he's had a chance to do more than whimper, Hargrove's got two broad palms fondling at his cheeks before pulling them apart to reveal his twitching hole. His face reddens with what little blood's not helping him stay stiff and leaking onto the carpet.

The first brush of Hargrove's hot tongue has his hole fluttering compulsively. Hargrove licks into him while pulling him wider, going for deep over tentative straight away. Has Steve's heart beating almost out of his chest and his limbs twitching in earnest. He can't help panting like he's hyperventilating, but it's good, it's fucking good, his shirt sticking to his back with fresh sweat and his cock drooling obscenely underneath him. He's a mess, a fucking mess, and he can only hiss and moan for more when Hargrove's lips pucker around his hole and he sucks and licks over and over again.

Feverish thrusts in and out with his slick tongue. And then Hargrove's hand leaving his ass to manoeuvre itself beneath Steve's twitching hips and grip him snugly in his warm, dry palm. It only takes a couple of thrusts of his hips, and Steve's coming in messy stripes all over Hargrove's fingers and the formerly clean carpet. Hargrove sucks around his rim one last time before moving away, though both palms massage his cheeks languidly for a bit after, any traces of come sinking into Steve's skin.

It's a chore to regain his breath, or move in any way whatsoever. It all leaves Steve winded for far too long, but when he does manage to drag his front off the floor Hargrove's already standing, a hand idly palming at himself, eyes unfocused, cheeks flushed. It's easier to look into his eyes when he's like this, pupils glazed and blown dark. Steve turns himself fully around, though he pulls on his pants enough to shelter his knees against the floor.

It's a short crawl to get within reach. Steve opens the hastily-buttoned jeans back up, slowly slips a hand into his clothes, breath catching. He's barely caught his breath at all. When he pulls him out he's rock-hard, the head almost a purple colour. He gives Hargrove's cock a slow, flat-tongued swipe from tip to balls, never once breaking eye contact, before slipping just the tip of his tongue back up, and then his mouth is swallowing him down as far as he can go.

It doesn't last long. Hargrove fucks his mouth, careful as much as rough, grip tight in Steve's hair anyway. The tip keeps hitting the roof of his mouth before slipping just an inch or so into his throat, then back again to graze the inside of his cheek. Breathing is hard. Too shallow. Blood rushes to his face faster than when Hargrove had his tongue in Steve's hole. He pulls on Hargrove's hip bones, the only way he knows to tell him to go faster. Harder. Steve moans and sucks him down, tight tight _tight_.

When Hargrove comes it's on a half-hearted attempt to let Steve know he's half a second away from spilling down his throat. As if Steve won't be swallowing it all down anyway.

It's bitter, and the taste clings to the inside of his cheeks after Hargrove pulls out to pant heavily. Steve pokes at the dregs of it with the tip of his tongue, and the taste explodes on his taste buds once more. He swallows compulsively against the slick of it around his teeth and gums. As if that's the end of it. As if it doesn't stick in the mind and in every part of his body.

It's something which used to be a part of Hargrove—maybe not integral or defining, or even something he consciously thinks about all that often, Steve doesn't think—but it's true nonetheless that it suddenly isn't _anymore_. Nothing to do with him at all, except its history, and now the knowledge of it being a part of Steve, as if he's consumed a part of him in a visceral sort of way, which is more mind-blowing than any revelation.

Something of Hargrove's left behind _in_ Steve. His head is spinning just thinking about it. Considering it. His internal organs might as well be glowing. They're submerged in each other, and Steve's isn't sure what this even means anymore.

He only pulls back once Hargrove's gone soft in his mouth, though the head clings to Steve's lower lip and has Hargrove hissing, too sensitive.

He only starts feeling how stiff he actually is from the floor once he's standing again to pull his clothes back into some sort of order. He only looks at Hargrove, really looks at him, once he's as neat as he's going to get tonight, presentable enough to drive himself back home and leave Hargrove to the graveyard shift.

"You really need to get out of this shitty town," Hargrove states yet again.

"Like where?" Steve asks, sceptical.

Hargrove looks him up and down. Finally he says, "I'll let you know." Just says it like it's nothing.

Steve blinks and stares at his big, dumb face, but it's Hargrove's turn to button his jeans back up, soft smile looking distinctly self-satisfied. The cocksure attitude and self-satisfaction is less grating when softened by mutual orgasms. It surprises Steve to find that to be true. He kind of can't stop his lips from twitching as well.

Long summer days in Hawkins are treacherous things. Steve wants them to go on for always, and a little bit after that, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I [tumble](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com) again, but I'm mostly on Discord as **Highsmith#6255**.


End file.
